EVENT: ARIMA ▒ APRIL 22-23

[ataraxites]

CHARACTERS: Ensemble production!
LOCATION: Arima Mining Colony
WARNINGS: Potential for gambling, drugs, violence, sex work.
SUMMARY: Passengers departing for and arriving by shuttle at the Arima Mining Colony.
NOTES: Covers April 22-23. IC event start commences post-Gunnery announcement. Divided by locations; players are free to indicate which day, and to begin new subthreads wherever they'd like! April 24-26 log here.

You step off of the shuttles into one of the bustling, heavily-guarded docks buried deep within the rock of an asteroid. Everyone seems too wrapped up in their own business to pay much mind to the group pouring out with you, and the mechanical sounds of takeoff, landing, and regular maintenance fill the air with clinks and whirs. As you begin to explore the colony, you find dingy and worn streets filled with a ruckus that's easy to get lost in: pushy merchants, booming, scratchy voices coming from inebriated patrons, and the scurrying footsteps of opportunistic thieves darting through the crowds. The colony no longer seems to profit off its mines, but this waystation for undesirables does have a taste for myriad forms of entertainment.

Comments

I AM VERY CONCERN except not really

[fertilefeet]

It's peaceful and that's unexpected.Something in the back of her mind reminds her that this is a dream but it's so alike when she was home, content to watch the stars. The thought of danger doesn't occur to her when something rustles by her hair. She just sits upright, looking around for what it was.

[morgoth]

She goes to sit upright... only she cannot; the grip on her hair goes painfully taut, yanking her back down to lay. The fireflies have become eyes, winking strangely in the dark. Chittering in a language incomprehensible to her; and there is only her pale body in the dark, the inky blackness of her hair fading away into it.

There's a wet, warm plume of breath against her ear.

[fertilefeet]

Luthien gasps as she's forced to remain on the ground, at the painful feeling of something gripping her hair. And, of course, she tries again to sit upright and tries to fight down the well of panic welling in her chest. Something, or someone, is there there her.

"Who is there?" Her voice shakes slightly and she reaches towards her hair, towards where it feels like something holding her.

[morgoth]

There's no one to answer' and rather than on her own hair, her hand slides over the scaled backs of a nest of serpents, writhing in lines as if they're all mating and twined together. They hiss and snap at her, invisible in the dark that blinds her now; and if her hand follows the bodies, there is no terminus to them; her own hair has become the very serpents that coil 'round her.

[fertilefeet]

A cry and she jerks her hand away, eyes wide as she reaches (more tentatively) to follow the feel of them along what should have been her hair. A part of her wants to call someone to help her but it's dark and all she can hear are the serpents. Not even the stars are left to her for comfort.

It's not real, she tells herself. Nothing is capable of such a feat. It's all she has and if she keeps thinking it, it has to be true. Doesn't it?

[morgoth]

It certainly feels reel; her skull aches when they twist, and her body chills with their cold when they slide against her skin--

And slide down they do, until her body is surrounded in the mass of thick, muscled serpents; slowly flowing over her body, undulating each around the other, their bodies pressing into and against each of her curves. They feel shockingly cool when they touch her bare skin, and her fabric shift offers little comfort against the sensation.

They begin winding 'round her legs, wedge-shaped faces gliding along her thighs.

[fertilefeet]

There's a sound of disgust as she tries to kicks out her legs, keep them off her and from winding up her legs. It's uncomfortable and disturbing, cold sensations she's not entirely used to feeling but for when she danced through snow.

A call for help, quiet and panicked, escapes her lips before she tries to talk with the snakes. Vicious as they seemed before, they have to listen. Some part of them does, at least.